


Poison Society

by knytkalas



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bondage, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Spanking, Therapeutic Kink, reluctant top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 18:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18155438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knytkalas/pseuds/knytkalas
Summary: Poison Ivy’s skin was very pale, snow white really, but the green fluid in her veins gave her whole complexion a greenish tint. The chlorophyll pulsed hot now, with Harley Quinn tied up like this.





	1. Spoiled and Rotten

**Author's Note:**

> This story consists of one longer chapter of joyful, hedonistic erotica, followed by two shorter chapters which picks up a few story threads and brings it all to a plot resolution.

_Poison Ivy. Had she answered to some other name in the past? It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care. She is Poison Ivy now. Her blood is chlorophyll. Whatever name the human cesspool of Gotham City had known her by is of no relevance now. Their dirty manners are no concern of hers. Ivy’s allegiance is to the plants and vegetation. They are her kin. Human lives and human affairs are irrelevant._  
   Ivy had her lair in a vast greenhouse on the rooftop of one of Gotham’s many abandoned shopping malls, siphoning electricity for her heat lamps from the tenement building across the street. To an outside observer it looked derelict.  
   Inside Ivy was brooding over a book. It was a tome really, an encyclopedia of the flora of Southern Asia and the Indian subcontinent. She had a project in the works, a new cross-breed hybrid. It was nearly working out as she wanted, but not quite. She was deep in thought.  
   Ivy knew someone was approaching her hideout long before she could hear anything. The plants gave the intruder away. Poison Ivy’s strong sympathetic connection with the vegetation allowed her to feel blades of grass being rustled form far away. Someone was tip-toeing barefoot over her rooftop garden outside. She could even recognize the pattern of the footsteps. She willed the thick branches covering the window entrance to bend back and allow her late-night visitor access.  
   Harley Quinn. The clown princess of crime. The one tolerable human being in Gotham. And that only just barely.  
   “Heya, Red!” Harley cried joyously and dropped her backpack on the floor. “Wanna play with me?”  
   “I’m busy.”  
   “Oh, don’t be like that! You are never _too_ busy...”  
   Ivy looked up from her book and saw poor Harley stand there with her needy eyes. She’d been drawn to Ivy’s lair like moth to a flame. Harley had never been any good at resisting her strong impulses. Some nights like this she simply found it impossible to control herself.  
   “I felt so lonely, Red,” she said.  
   “I bet you did.”  
   Harley waltzed into the greenhouse and spun around in pirouettes, flaunting her ragtag appearance. She wore no shoes. One of her legs was wrapped in a fishnet stocking, the other was bare. Her pants were incredibly tight and vandalized to the point where they were mostly just denim underwear.  
   “It’s a beautiful night outside,” she chirped. “Who could sleep on a night like this? Don’t you just wanna take a long ride on your harley?”  
   Ivy rolled her eyes. Harley had come bubbling into her home, filled to the brim with excess energy. No direction, no plan, no intention. Just pure id. And so, so much of it. The clown princess was virtually bouncing off the walls. She could not contain herself. She could not _restrain_ herself.  
   Harley skipped up to the chair where Ivy was sitting, and then she wiggled her chest just a little bit, in a very delightful way.  
   “Please, please, pretty please!” she prattled. “I’ve missed you so much, Red, so so much.”  
   Ivy glanced at her encyclopedia and realized that she had made no headway so far tonight, and chances were slim that a breakthrough was looming. Certainly not with Harley Quinn’s hyperactive hopping. Harley followed Ivy’s gaze and then provokingly flicked the cover of the book closed.  
   Fine, Harley. Fine, I’ll play with you. I will do what you ask of me. But this night I will not be gentle.  
   Ivy put two fingers to Harley’s lips, and Harley stopped her blabbering. One touch was already enough to calm her disquiet mind noticeably. Without warning, Ivy then quickly pushed her fingers inside Harley’s mouth and pressed them deep down into her throat. Immediately Harley dropped to her knees in front of her and stared up at Ivy with big, glossy eyes. Nice, obedient Harley, so eager to follow. Ivy knew that Harley would be soft as butter from here on. The slightest hint of movement in her wrist and Harley would instantly perceive it and be led without a shadow of resistance. She was funny like that, Harley Quinn. Not only eager, but so very perceptive. Fine tuned. She could be pushed around like a mist.  
   Ivy stood for a while with her arm to her side, holding Harley down with the angle of her fingers in her throat. This is what the clown princess had wanted. Ivy could tell not only from the look in those big eyes, in fact from her whole body language, but also from the very warmth of her mouth and gentleness of her tongue in there.  
   “Are you happy now?”  
   Harley gargled a bit as she tried to answer with Ivy’s fingers blocking the way. Then she nodded instead and drops of warm saliva escaped her lips and trailed down her chin.  
   “Disrobe yourself.”  
   Without breaking eye contact Harley begin fidgeting with the zipper at the front of her suit. The zipper went all the way down and split the top in half. She didn’t wear anything underneath and her nipple piercings gleamed as her gymnast’s breasts fell free. Harley began peeling the sleeves off of her arms.  
   Harley’s skin was covered not only in prison tattoos and elaborate inkwork, but also crisscrossed with countless scars. Many of them no doubt form self harm, but certainly a sizable portions of the scars came from fighting and fistacuffs. Harley had been in brawls with the police, with the bat and with all sorts of random street thugs. She had been in explosions and car crashes and collapsing buildings. There was no end to the punishment that girl could take. It was like her body was made of rubber.  
   Did Ivy care about Harley’s heaps of prior baggage? No. Every single soul in Gotham City was broken and all messed up. All of humanity screamed out in anguish, tormented by its very own nature. Poison Ivy was indifferent to the suffering. She had her own interests to mind.  
   “That will do for now,” Ivy said when Harley’s chest and upper body was bared. “You can keep your pants on.”  
   Ivy hooked her fingers behind Harley’s teeth and began to pull her by the jaw with a constant but uncompromising force. The kneeling Harley stumbled forward and almost fell. Yet, curiously, the clown princess did not bring her hands forward to catch herself. She didn't even flinch. Her whole body flowed after Ivy’s subtle lead with bottomless trust.  
   At any rate, the trust was justified. Even before Ivy began her movement, her loyal vines had already started to ensnare Harley’s legs and bind them to the floor. As Harley was dragged forwards the vines caught her in their unfeeling embrace. They strapped Harley’s shins firmly to the floor and began to push her knees wider and wider apart. At the same time Harley was made to lean forward and thus raising her butt away from her heels. More vines encircled her arms and forced them behind her back, which pushed her torso even further forwards, raising her butt in the air and pulling her arms up into an unforgiving strappado. After Harley had been drawn into this position, the vines began to tighten even more, pushing her legs further apart, her arms further back, her head further down.  
   Harley was astonishingly flexible. She would bend this way and that, without effort any which way. In this respect too, it was like her body was made of rubber. Her arms were now pressed so far back that her elbows were touching, and so far up that her shoulders yoked back, and yet it looked like her limber body still had much, much more to give. This was barely even uncomfortable for the pliable Harley Quinn. Her breasts hung like droplets from her almost horizontal chest.  
   Ivy slid her fingers back out from Harley’s throat, bringing a long string of clear saliva with them, like a hang-bridge between her fingertips and Harley’s wet lips. Harley struggled sincerely against the strands that held her.  
   “This is no fair,” she complained. “I want to touch you, baby!”  
   “You know full well that no man can touch me.”  
   “I am no man!”  
   “That’s not what that means.”  
   “C’mon! I know you ain’t even poisonous to touch. Not really. Why wonthca let me?”  
   “It’s my decision who touches me. You will obey.”  
   Harley pouted and Ivy turned her back to the bound woman. She began to discard her own dressing gown. The distinction between clothed and nude was such a human notion. Ivy didn’t pay much mind to a trivial thing like that. Once the soft silk robe had slid down her arms and hips she was skyclad at once. This was her natural state anyway. Ivy’s skin was very pale, snow white really, but the green fluid in her veins gave her whole complexion a greenish tint. The chlorophyll pulsed hot now, with Harley tied up like this, and all the leaves and flowers in the greenhouse responded to her mood. They were all hyper-alert.  
   With Harley unable to move or look away, Ivy began to caress her own curves. Her back was still towards Harley, but she reckoned the girl didn’t mind the view much more because of that. She would turn around to her lover soon enough, but she wanted a little time with her own breasts first. Her nipples were large and dark. She would lift her breasts with her hands, they were heavier than Harley’s, and then let them fall and bounce. No one else’s touch could ever be as soft and appreciative as her own.  
   After a while, when she was ready, Ivy turned around and moved back to Harley. She sat down right in front of the bound one’s flushed face, leaned back against a bed of thick leaves and spread her legs wide. Harley had been very good and patient but now she wanted desperately to get involved. The clown princess of crime strained her neck out and tried her best to push her whole body forwards in spite of the bondage. She was reaching with her lips towards the dripping promise between Ivy’s legs. Ivy, of course, was out of reach. Even when Harley stretched her tongue out as far as she could she was still just barely able to brush against the peach-fuzz of Ivy’s skin.  
   Ivy laughed softly and kept fondling her breast and stroking her inner thigh. She ran her finger in circles around her nipple. Her other hand wandered smoothly towards the tiny patch of red hair where her thighs met. Heat rose up to Harley’s face, inches away.  
   “Please,” Harley pleaded, breathing heavily. “I’ll be good, I promise. So very, very good, you don’t even know!”  
   Ivy touched herself now, but she was only just beginning. Her movements were slow and deliberate, carefully calibrated. Harley wiggled and writhed in her bonds. The need in her eyes was palpable. She was as if hypnotized by the motion of Ivy’s fingers.  
   Suddenly Harley found some new angle, or maybe squeezed her arms together in some new fashion, and the ties that held her gave way a bit. Harley’s head swooshed down towards Ivy’s lap. Harley herself was clearly as surprised as anyone, and in her bewilderment forgot to take advantage of her new situation. That split second was all Ivy needed. She’d many times before seen Harley slip out of police handcuffs, as well as from a variety of different restraining devices. She’d even heard a rumor that Harley had once managed to vanish out of solitary confinement. She would have to be extra watchful with this little escape artist if she wanted to keep her in place.  
   Ivy scooted her butt out from underneath Harley and rose. She walked over to her work-table and fetched several coils of rope, fine natural-fibre rope, twisted by hand, yards upon yards.  
   “Um, we don’t need that, do we?” said Harley.  
   “I think we do,” replied Ivy and uncoiled the strands of rope. “I don’t think you can behave properly if left to your own devices.”  
   “I can behave!”  
   “Can you though?”  
   “No…” Harley admitted with a little bit of shame. ”It’s so hard for me, Red! I want to do as you say, but I just have no control over myself...”  
   “Lucky you have me then.”  
   Ivy knelt beside Harley and the vines that held Harley’s arms began to loosen up and let go. Harley shook off the last of the vegetation, but she did not make any attempts to stop Ivy from collecting her arms and introduce the rope. She leaned back a little bit from her bowed position.  
   “Lucky I have you,” she said.  
   Ivy kept Harley’s arms firmly pinned behind her back. She started with her wrists, lashing them together with loops and holding them parallel, with Harley’s palms flat against each other. She then worked herself upwards in a crisscross pattern until she came to Harley’s elbows. She wanted to not only press Harley’s elbows together as much as possible, which was a lot, but also make sure to tie them up tightly. She placed a loop above Harley’s elbow joint and pulled it taut, which was always a delightful thing to do because it had the pleasant effect of pushing Harley’s chest forward and make her breasts stand out, perk up and draw attention. Once the first loop was secured Ivy found that she could easily work her way even further up Harley’s upper arms. Harley’s shoulder joints were loose and flexible and Ivy could squeeze her arms together almost all the way up from her wrists to her armpits. The result resembled the long body of a dragonfly.  
   This was really more than enough for all practical purposes, but just for fun Ivy also added a few loops around Harley’s torso, framing her breasts and pinning her arms flat to her back. A very deep and soft crease had formed between Harley’s shoulder blades as they were pressed together, and her whole upper back had folded itself into attractive vertical ridges.  
   “I can’t budge,” Harley whispered.  
   “I know.”  
   Ivy returned to her place in front of Harley and resumed her selfish stimulation. If anything she was more aroused now than before the interlude. Harley began to lean forward, lustfully, but the surrounding plants wouldn’t let her. She licked her lips and wiggled her upper body so that the ropes and tethers would slide a little around her breasts, caressing them. Maybe get a nipple piercing caught in a stalk, if she was lucky. But there wasn’t much more she could do from her position. She pouted, but didn’t word any more complaints for the moment.  
   Ivy started touching herself with more and more intensity. Her breathing was heavy now, like Harley’s. With her free hand she squeezed her own breasts more roughly, even pinching her nipples and pulling them upwards, lifting her breasts.  
   Ivy brought herself to the edge of orgasm and held it there for a little while. She was using both hands together now. The plants all around them seemed to vibrate in anticipation. Harley plainly knew in her very bones what was happening, and her breath became very shallow and quick. In the very last moment Ivy relaxed and lifted her hands away from their task. Now was not the time. Ivy brushed her legs against Harley’s suspended body and trailed her fingers up her own, to her mouth where she licked her retreating fingers clean.  
   “Oh, come on!” Harley languished. “You’re not even gonna do yourself? Let me! Let me!”  
   “I have no obligation to be nice to you,” Ivy said and dragged her fingers through her striking red hair to untangle it.  
   “But _I_ can be nice to _you_!” Harley retorted with passion.  
   Ivy didn’t answer, but she got up and stood behind Harley’s back. She placed her hands on Harley’s cheeks. Harley’s reaction was immediate. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, exposing her delicate throat, and attempted to maybe catch one of Ivy’s fingers between her lips, see if there was still any taste of her left. Ivy didn’t let her, but slid down behind her and let her hands glide softly down Harley’s throat, breasts and stomach. Harley was still on her knees, but now somewhat upright. She was still leaning forwards and hanging against her restraints, but the angle was less extreme than earlier. Ivy undid Harley’s heavy belt-buckle.  
   As Ivy was peeling off Harley’s studded daisy dukes - Harley wasn’t wearing anything under these either - something caught her eye between the clown princess’ butt cheeks. As small anal plug sat firmly in place. The knob of the plug was a sphere of clear glass, and embedded inside the sphere was a miniature red rose.  
   “Has this been inside you this whole time?” Ivy asked.  
   “I’m wearing it just for you,” Harley said. “It has a flower and everything! D’ya like it?”  
   “Very clever,” said Ivy dryly. “Have you perhaps also brought your other one?”  
   Harley blushed and mumbled something inaudible. Ivy slapped her ass.  
   “Yes!” Harley yelped. “Yes! It’s in my bag, by the window.”  
   Ivy strolled over to said bag and opened it. Inside were a whole collection of mixed toys and paraphernalia. Much of is was silly or useless. Harley was not only a kleptomaniac but also a collector of all sorts of oddities. Ivy couldn’t care less. What she was looking for was a latex anal plug which could be inflated with air, pumped up to several times its original size. She found her prize and returned to her prisoner.  
   There seemed to be no end to the wetness that was already dripping out of Harley Quinn. Ivy removed the rose-embellished plug and smeared some liquid from Harley’s thighs onto the new, larger one. She was careful not to touch Harley too much where it mattered. Harley sighed hopelessly. With a deliberate force Ivy inserted the new anal plug into Harley, and it slid in so smoothly it was like it belonged there.  
   “Every time you beg me for something from now on I’m going to inflate this with one more squeeze.”  
   “Oh, you’re so mean,” whined Harley.  
   Ivy gave the handle a hard and sudden squeeze and Harley caught her breath as the thing grew inside her.  
   “Do not insult me.”  
   Letting go of the pump for now, Ivy reached around and grabbed hold of the two delicate rings adorning Harley Quinn’s nipples. She began to pull on them and Harley followed as far as she could. When the ropes stopped her and Ivy kept pulling, Harley’s breasts lifted and her nipples became stretched and distressed.  
   “Ow, ow, ow,” she said.  
   Ivy held fast for a bit longer and then released her grip. Harley’s trim breasts and their rings snapped back, and Harley exhaled satisfactorily.  
   “You like the pain,” said Ivy.  
   “I do not,” said Harley but she did. She couldn’t hide it. Certainly not from the watchful Poison Ivy.  
   “Perhaps you’d prefer a sound spanking instead.”  
   “It’s not my birthday yet,” Harley observed.  
   Still, she perked her butt out nonetheless, ready to receive.  
   Ivy opened her palm and brought it down on Harley’s ass. It made a very nice sound. So did Harley, who whimpered. Ivy raised her arm again and delivered a series of quick blows to the waiting target. Smack, smack, smack. Then she halted for a second, just to catch Harley off guard, before she came back with an even harder slap. Smack! Harley gasped and her lips remained parted, her tongue almost hanging out.  
   Spurred on by the salient response, Ivy kept going. She alternated between using her left and right hand, and made sure to shift her angle often. She went faster and faster. She tried to arrive at a pace so quick Harley would be unable to grab breaths in between blows. The swats were not hard but they were rapid-fire, and they served to warm up Harley’s cheeks, to redden them, and to make them tender and sensitive for the next stage.  
   When she was happy with the result Ivy moved on to use rougher and more deliberate strikes. These were well-aimed and had real force behind them. Harley drew long breaths between the swats now, but Ivy made sure to keep her rhythm irregular and to keep Harley guessing. She took advantage of the tension she had built up and culminated it in as sequence of five calculated spanks that landed hard and precise.  
   “Please! No more!” shrieked Harley with abandon.  
   “What did you say?” asked Ivy and held up the pump handle so Harley could see it. “Did you just beg me for something?”  
   “No,” said Harley wisely. “Nuh-uh.”  
   “Shall I continue then?”  
   Harley’s mind raced for a second and then she answered weakly:  
   “Yes, please...”  
   “Ah, there's that magic word again,” said Ivy and this time she pressed down on the inflating pump for real.  
   Harley gasped and wiggled her butt.  
   “You tricked me!” she giggled.  
   “Pay attention,” smirked Ivy and resumed the spanking.  
   Smack, smack, smack. Ivy retraced her steps a bit to a more quick-paced and light rhythm. Harley squealed and thrashed. Her butt was not very big but it was round and had an almost elastic quality to it. Each impact made it wobble, but the vibration subsided fast and Ivy felt as if her palm always seemed to bounce back with renewed energy, which could then go right into the next slap. Ivy was not getting tired, but Harley’s butt was getting blushing red. It glowed. And the anal plug was still in there, shaking with every new spank.  
   “Please!” Harley panted at last. “The butt stuff is not enough! I wanna come! Please let me come!”  
   “I counted no less than three separate pleas there,” said Ivy and squeezed three times on the handle.  
   By the third squeeze Harley was wailing loudly and writhing in her bonds.  
   “It’s so big, Ivy. Have mercy!”  
   Poison Ivy rose and the vines which for such a long time had been snaring Harley’s legs began to fall away. New, thick stalks dropped down from the ceiling and hoisted Harley up by gripping tight around her arms and shoulders. The girl was pulled inexorably towards one of the greenhouse’s horizontal support beams, near the ceiling above, and pressed against it with her back. There she was left hanging for a bit.  
   Harley stretched her toes and managed to prod the floorboards briefly. Her hips were now at level with Ivy’s hands. Her arms were still pinned behind her back, bound so very tightly by the rope. Ivy grabbed Harley around her waist and moved her hands down, stroking the very top of Harley’s legs and pressing her thumbs inwards, following the curve of Harley’s inner thighs. Harley shivered and wanted to ask Ivy to keep going, but bit her lip instead.  
   Ivy moved her hands again, and edged them ever closer to where Harley wanted them. No hair was ever allowed to grow here, save for one small patch lovingly trimmed in the shape of a diamond. Harley stuck to her style through and through. Nothing was ever shallow or disingenuous with her. She had turtles all the way down. An intimate piercing glistened with a deep red ruby.  
   Ivy flicked the piercing and Harley moaned loudly. She didn’t care if it hurt, as long as Ivy did _something_ to her.  
   Ivy stepped back slightly and made strong vines wrap themselves around Harley’s ankles and calves. Ivy herself put her hands on Harley’s inner thighs and began pushing her legs apart. The vines pulled by the same will, and more vines came slithering and joined in. Ivy and her plants separated Harley’s legs wider and wider, and lifted them upwards until Harley was suspended in a full split and her dripping slit was laid bare and exceedingly exposed. Harley pointed her toes and the vines were able to pull another few extra inches out of the extreme split. The main thing that limited the display from going any further at this point was the large anal plug that was still snug inside the acrobat.  
   With a small nudge Ivy could make Harley pivot her hips forward, which forced her to arc her whole back and lift her ass. Harley happily obeyed. She even curved her neck backwards to continue the flow of the motion throughout her whole body.  
   It was a strained and punishing pose indeed, yet Harley Quinn would easily be able to hold it for hours. Even have orgasms like this without fear of injury. The jester of crime was as limber as the most breathtaking of circus performers. How much did she stretch and exercise to keep her body in this shape, the curvy Poison Ivy wondered. No matter. Come rain or snow or the end of days, Harley Quinn would do whatever she wanted and nothing else.  
   “Please can I come, Red?”  
   Innocent as it was, the question still warranted another pump on the anal plug and Harley shuddered all the way out to her toes. She held her tongue and refused to moan though. All this may have been harsh, but it had its intended effect. Harley was now wetter and hotter than ever, and she forced her hips forwards as much as she could for the ropes and vines. Her sex was downright famished for attention now.  
   Ivy’s slender fingers stroked Harley’s spot ever so gently. Always, always with a tormentingly light touch. Sometimes she could take the risk and slip inside for a bit, but never to stay for too long. It was paramount to keep Harley from true satisfaction, to keep her yearning and pining.  
   The sliding motion of Ivy’s fingertips against Harley's body were fantastically frictionless. Harley’s whole crotch and spread thighs were drenched through and through, and Ivy’s hands could glide with remarkable indulgence. Clear, sparkling strings of Harley’s wetness dangled down from her, and drops would fall and gather in puddles on the floorboards beneath them. Poison Ivy enjoyed herself now. This was the state she had aimed to get Harley to from the very start, and her studious work and orchestration was beginning to come to fruition. The sensation of sliding her fingers through this warm and slippery, living and responding landscape was like nothing else on this earth.  
Harley squirmed, but she could neither get away nor press closer. Her sensitivity was by now so intense that the merest brush, an almost accidental nudge, could bring her to the very edge of madness.  
   “P-p-p-p-pweeze...” she begged. Even at her most desperate Harley’s mouth still effortlessly mimicked the sound-clips of old Looney Toons shows. What went on in this girl’s mind no one could tell.  
   That was barely even a coherent plea. Ivy didn't pump up the anal plug any further. At this point she didn't even think Harley would have been able to notice it.  
   Over the course of the night Ivy had patiently and systematically reduced Harley Quinn to a whimpering mess. The clown princess’ lower lip quivered pitifully and she was drooling. This, right here, was the truest act of power in the phony world of man, and Ivy basked in her own vast skill. For her, sex was first and foremost an arena for exercising power over others. She could melt men’s hearts with one look, and they in turn could not affect her in the slightest way. She was numb to their crude approaches. If she had any need at all, any desire at all, it was exactly this. This cruel rush of power and control was the only thing she truly enjoyed. And silly little Harley, helpless and pleading little Harley, fiercely submissive and recklessly masochistic Harley Quinn - she alone could scratch this itch of Ivy’s so very exquisitely. How lucky they were to have found each other.  
   Ivy could feel how close Harley was to release. Harley’s whole body was strained like a bow, every muscle tense in anticipation, her hips moving and pushing as far as her bonds would allow towards Ivy, grabbing for attention. Ivy retracted her hands and fingers from Harley’s warmth.  
   “Nooo...” Harley whined softly, quite beyond words.  
   “I’m going to fetch something that vibrates,” said Ivy.  
   “Yeeess...”  
   Ivy once again rifled through Harley Quinn’s bag of tricks. She knew full well what she needed to do next. She knew what kind of vibrator she needed. It was too late to stop or hold back now. She had already committed to this path, and at this point there was only one way this night could end.  
   She would have to exhaust Harley Quinn completely. Drain all of her excess energy. The only way to get any rest at all tonight was to make Harley orgasm and orgasm until she was utterly spent. Until her muscles were so fatigued that she could barely move. Only then would Harley finally be able to sleep peacefully. The blissful sleep of the spoiled and rotten.  
   And after that, Ivy thought to herself, maybe she would actually tend to herself in private. It had been a long time, after all, since she last brought herself to completion.


	2. A Rose by another Name

Poison Ivy woke up the next morning and heard that it was raining outside. Light drops smattered against the glass roof of her greenhouse lair. Good. The garden on the rooftop outside would benefit from the drizzle.  
   Ivy dozed away under the covers by herself, listening to the soft rain. But she hadn’t slept alone that night, had she?  
Harley Quinn was already up, dancing around in a frilly, polka dot apron, making flapjacks. When Harley turned around Ivy saw that the tiny apron was the only garment she had on, because of course it was. Her cute butt still retained a pinkish hue from last night.  
Ivy left her bed of flowers and got up. She didn't see any point in getting dressed, so she moved to join her night-guest still in a state of striking nudity. Poison Ivy’s body had the kind of outstanding beauty that made heads turn as soon as she entered a room. No one who had ever laid eyes on her could henceforth forget Ivy’s mane of blazing red hair, her unfathomable eyes, alluring alabaster breasts and seductively swinging hips. That snapshot impression would stay with them for the rest of their lives.  
Harley, by contrast, was a pipsqueak tomboy with a goofy face.  
   Yet, she certainly had charms of her own, Harley Quinn. Ivy stood for a moment hidden, and observed the scandalously underdressed sprite dance around and go about her undertaking in the pentry. After a short while, Ivy made herself known.  
   “Ivy!” Harley cheered, excited as a puppy.  
   She leaped over to Ivy and stole a peck on Ivy’s cheek before the redhead could react. Then she fluttered away from any retaliation, quick as a whirling wind, and grabbed the sizzling frying-pan.  
   “I wanna thank you so much, Ivy, for last night. You’re a life-saver! Look, I made you breakfast. Everybody loves flapjacks!”  
   “I don’t.”  
   Harley hesitated and looked almost a little bit afraid for a brief moment. Then she composed herself in an instant and burst into an irresistible smile.  
   “Well!” she exclaimed in her unyieldingly optimistic tone. “But you haven't tried mine, have you?”  
   Ivy realized, much to her own surprise, that it was quite a fine thing, actually, to have Harley around. As long as the clown princess didn't do anything that upset her, they could get along perfectly well. Harley was bouncing around with her butt on display and life was good for once.  
   Ivy sat down at the table and accepted a plate of thick pancakes. It was a bit of a mystery where Harley had even come by the ingredients for this. Had she already been out on a round of shoplifting before dawn? Even when Harley slept at all, she evidently didn’t sleep much. An image flashed across Ivy’s mind of a birthday suit Harley Quinn darting around town in the early morning hours with her arms full of flour, butter and milk, and Ivy almost laughed.  
   Meanwhile Harley was still buzzing around in the pentry. With a peevish little grin she snuck around to stand behind Ivy at the table. Harley leaned in close, slid her arms lovingly under Ivy’s and clasped both her hands over Ivy’s sacred breasts.  
   A terrible tremor rushed through Ivy’s whole body, she jolted upright and dropped the pancake fork.  
   “No!” she screamed and jumped up from her chair. “Don't touch me like that!”  
   Harley looked frightened.  
   “I'm sorry, Red. I didn't mean to.”  
   “Get out!”  
   Outside a wave of thunder roared and the rain increased in intensity.  
   “But...”  
   Ivy’s mood darkened considerably and rapidly, and it affected every plant and bush in the greenhouse. Their agitation was tangible.  
   “Get out!”  
   Still in her frilly apron and nothing else Harley darted for the window opening. She made her hasty escape without looking back but with her eyes full of glittering tears.  
   “I forbid you from coming here again,” Ivy called out with her most authoritative voice, and watched the half-naked Harley slink away in the rain.  
   Where would Harley disappear to now? How would she get there without her clothes? Ivy didn't care. She was indifferent to the suffering.

Several days passed before Ivy thought of Harley Quinn again. Human affairs ment little to her. She had her own interests to mind. Her cross-breed still didn't want to flourish and she needed supplies. Where could she loot or steal what she needed? She had no legitimate way to acquire materiel, or even seeds. She had a headache.  
   Perhaps what she truly needed was someone whose body could provide a cathartic release for all of Ivy’s general animosity, but who would be delighted by it and still happy to see her the next morning?  
   Poison Ivy hated Gotham City. She hated the people in it. She hated what the city made them into, and most of all she hated what the city did to her. This was no place to live and bloom.  
   So, should she leave then? Pick up what she could carry with her and abandon the metropolis for good? Wash her hair of the whole thing and never look back? Ivy could live a good life in the wilderness, in the great rainforests of the southern hemisphere. That’s where her own kin reigned supreme, where the green dominated every square mile and no steel or concrete could thrive undisputed. Poison Ivy was more of a plant than a human by now, or at least she could be, if she allowed herself to blossom fully. The world of man held her back. And perhaps, in the end, there was nothing left for her in this malicious place.  
   But how could she leave? On foot? It’s not like she could just bust into an airport and buy a plane ticket out. Ivy was a wanted criminal. A public enemy. She didn’t have a passport. She barely had any money. As much as she detested Gotham’s sagging skyscrapers and looming towers, and as much as she loathed its people, getting away from it all would not be as easy as all that.  
   Ever so gradually, it began to dawn on Ivy that she might in fact be longing for her friend Harley. As obnoxious and unpredictable as the clown princess was, perhaps the very existence of Harley Quinn was the single, solitary good thing in this whole godforsaken city.

The moon was already out one late evening when the grass began whispering about a new set of footfalls nearby. These were square and heavy. Nothing like Harley’s barefoot skipping. Ivy jerked to attention. Trouble? She took a quick glance through the cloudy glass walls of her lair and her heart sank when she saw who was approaching.  
The Batman. Gotham’s mysterious protector. Who hid behind that cape and cowl? What was the identity of this secretive champion? Ivy didn’t care. Some spoiled playboy or some authoritarian vigilante? What difference did it make? He was just another man who thought himself above everyone else. Another self-important doofus who saw fit to take liberties with the law and the bodies of others. Just like every other creep in Gotham.  
   With little time to react Ivy quickly wrapped a white sheet around her nudity before stepping out to face the bat. The dark so-called knight stood silhouetted against the full moon. Did he always choose his direction of entry with this effect in mind? Imagine putting that much effort into your outward façade. Imagine what kind of pathetic insecurities he felt the need to distract his peers from.  
   The bat spoke:  
   “Harley Quinn is spiraling out of control,” he said. “She needs to be reigned in.”  
   “She is not my responsibility,” said Ivy with austerity.  
   The bat took a step down from the balustrade on which he’d been standing. He was built like a linebacker and dressed all in black, his face covered as always. His cape wavered solemnly in the light breeze.  
   “Listen to me. I could bring you in right now,” he threatened.  
   “You could try,” Ivy interrupted and crossed her arms over her chest.  
   “But that is not why I'm here. I would much rather work with you, to help me stop Harley Quinn.”  
   Ivy scoffed.  
   “Harley does whatever she wants. No one can stop her. Not you. Not I.”  
   “She is hurting people, Ivy. And she is hurting herself.”  
   It was hard to tell whether the bat had come to fight or not. His body language was wary, distrustful. Even if he had sought her out just to talk he did not let his guard down. Ivy didn’t want a brawl to break out - not when she was this unprepared. She stood outside in her bed-sheets for heaven's sake. But she was just as tense as the bat, just as ready to react fast if the other made a sudden move.  
   “I know you two are friendly with each other,” said the bat. “I am not asking you to betray your friend and get her locked up. I can pull strings and offer some immunity, maybe even a pardon. For the both of you, most likely. I just want _her_ off the streets.”  
   “That was a lot of ‘maybes’ for a sales pitch.”  
   “You can trust me, Ivy. I am not one to break my promises.”  
   “Perhaps you should be.”  
   Perhaps the bat should just forget about whatever oath he must have taken in the past to keep doing whatever it was he did. Perhaps he should just let it all go. Perhaps they’d all be much happier then, the miserable bat himself and the people of Gotham to boot.  
   But what was Harley up to? What was she doing that was severe enough to worry the bat? Just to attract the attention of the dark knight was often bad enough, but to have him this worked up, this prepared to make deals? It had to be serious.  
   “We can go after Harley Quinn together,” the bat assured her. “And when we find her, you can vouch for her. She can go free on parole, as long as you agree to be her guardian. I have the political contacts to make something like that happen.”  
   Ivy considered the proposition carefully. The didn’t trust the bat one bit, but she found within herself a strong affection for Harley Quinn. Ivy wanted her girlfriend back. And if something was indeed wrong, as the bat claimed, perhaps it was time for Poison Ivy to step in and sort things out.  
   Then the bat played his hidden ace, his most intimate promise.  
   “You have nothing to fear, Pamela Isley.”  
   At the sound of that name Poison Ivy froze up. The five syllables hit her like a yanked collar. She felt how the chains began to grab hold of her mind again. Those chains she had thought she’d lost forever.  
   “Fuck you!” she screamed. “Fuck you, you caped fucking crusader! You do not have the right to call me by that name!”  
   Ivy strode forwards until she was face to face with the bat, all caution thrown aside.  
   “I have reforged myself with a new identity. One that is based on how powerful _I_ am, how capable _I_ am, one based on my _own_ agency. And here you come, bringing with you long-dead names, trying to invite me back into the world of men. Are you going to promise me that everything will be alright now? The world of men has given me nothing but rape and abuse!”  
   The bat winced.  
   “You are the bad guy here,” said Poison Ivy. “You fight to uphold a status quo that feeds on bodies like mine, bleeds us dry, and discards what’s left in a highway ditch.”  
As she spoke the greens in Ivy’s rooftop garden began to bulge up menacingly. They writhed in anticipation, coiling and twisting with their own form of undomesticated rage. The bat noticed and began retreating back onto the balustrade. He saw that he would not make peace with Ivy tonight, not after hitting such a sore spot. He undoubtalby made note of this sudden development in that vast, hoarding mind of his and then prepared to depart across the dark cityscape.  
   As he was making his retreat, the bat hesitated. He turned his head slightly and growled over his shoulder:  
   “I came to tell you that Harley Quinn is in trouble. She’s gone and done something very stupid, and she needs help.”


	3. Green Inferno

Harley Quinn had not taken Ivy’s abandonment well. She’d launched herself headfirst into another self-destructive binge. Pulling reckless heists. Buying explosives. Getting into shootouts against mobsters with tommy-guns. Making deals with the Penguin that were clearly very bad deals. Predictably, it had gotten her into trouble fast.  
   Poison Ivy considered what the bat had told her. Harley needed help. She was out of control. She was always out of control, wasn’t she? She could not restrain herself, could she? Lucky she had her Ivy then. Lucky her. If she really, truly needed help, it was Ivy’s help she needed, and no one else’s.  
   But what on earth had Harley Quinn been up to? Ivy had no way of even beginning to guess. It could be anything, and that meant pretty much _anything_. If she was to help Harley, Ivy would need to find her first.  
   Despite the city planners’ best efforts there were still trees lining the streets. There were still, and always would be, weeds growing strong in the gutter. Dead as the city was, life could cling to it nonetheless. Something, somewhere, was bound to know where Harley Quinn had wound up. Ivy just had to reach out. She had to sense the mood of the plants, their primitive impressions. The sympathetic bond that allowed Ivy to steer and guide the vegetation also ran the other way, and what went on in the world of green affected her deeply.  
   Poison Ivy moved through the city. She'd left her rooftop lair still wrapped in bedsheets, not bothering to put on pants for this. The green whispered to her where she needed to go next, until in time she wound up perched atop a grinning gargoyle.  
   This was Gotham architecture for you: gargoyles on a skyscraper. Who even thought to put a gargoyle on a skyscraper anyway? Didn’t they belong on medieval cathedrals? This whole city had lost its mind long before the bat came.  
   Down below, within Ivy’s elevated view, stood a hollowed out apartment building, the skeleton of a concrete structure, in appearance almost like a parking deck. Poison Ivy spied inside and spotted what she was after.  
   The Penguin. The gentleman of crime was a rotund little man. Neither his overly theatrical top-hat nor his overly expensive tuxedo quite managed to draw the attention away from the man's elongated and pointed beak of a nose. What a life he must lead! He waddled back and forth and squawked at his companions.  
   Scattered about the room stood a squad of the Penguin’s hired goons, at least fifteen men, all of them armed, many with black-market assault rifles. Ivy counted them from her vantage point. Private military corporations doing contract work for crooks. Gotham feeding upon itself.  
   And there in a corner was Harley Quinn, wearing a tight leather outfit that covered her from head to toe, yet didn't seem to cover her at all. They had her in chains, seated on a chair with her arms cuffed to the frame. Layers of nasty duct tape covered her mouth. Ivy understood all too well why they would have done that, but it looked all wrong. This was no way to treat poor Harley. It wasn’t conducive to her energy. Harley could be made to enjoy a rough treatment ecstatically, but they weren't doing it right.  
   Poison Ivy descended and made her entrance. She stepped into the room with bare feet and in an instant all its occupants to a man were spellbound by her presence. The guards hesitated with their weapons, unsure what to do next. The Penguin eyed her with great suspicion. Ivy was the first to speak.  
   “Penguin,” she said.  
   “Ack! Mr. Cobblepot, if you please, my beautiful.”  
   Poison Ivy scoffed. This little man was a pathetic villain. He was a rogue, nothing more.  
   The Penguin shuffled his way across the room. An umbrella swung daintily from his misshapen left hand. His other hand he kept hidden inside his jacket. When he spoke again his voice came out polite and negotiating, but as always distractingly nasal and sleazy.  
   “This business is between me and miss Quinn,” he smiled. “It does not concern-”  
   The Penguin’s speech got cut short when thick roots sprang up through the floor and lifted him high in the air. They had been growing for some time, since the very moment Ivy set foot in the building, unstoppably working their way up the tiers. Poison Ivy hadn’t come here to talk. The Penguin screamed cowardly and the troop of henchmen raised their filthy guns.  
   An explosion of green burst out from all around. The whole room filled up with leaves and flowers, moss, stalks, vines and roots. They shot out of the floor, the walls. Every available surface was overgrown in an instant, and every man inside was swept up in the storm of vegetation. The goons screamed and fired at random as malicious plants crawled around their legs and limbs, lifting them, twisting them and crushing them. Not one among them would survive this.  
   Poison Ivy towered in the midst of it all, bright locks of red hair flowing like a burning river, garbed in white sheets like a pagan goddess.  
   Many in the criminal underworld of Gotham had seen Ivy fight before. None among them had ever witnessed anything near her full power. What they had seen was but a fraction. They had no idea what she was really capable of. Poison Ivy would probably be able to bring the whole city down overnight, level it to the ground and cover the whole principality in a healthy forest within the first week. Eradicate every human being occupying the cement jungle in a single exercise. She had never tried to do that, but she probably could. She was in no hurry.  
   The stalks ensnaring the Penguin grew stronger, constricting mercilessly around him, choking him and ultimately twisting his neck. Thus ended the life of Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. Poison Ivy wasn't even looking.  
   After the first onslaught the plants settled down. They were neither hungry nor bloodthirsty. Once peace had been restored the flora returned to its natural tranquility. Poison Ivy surveyed the devastation. The dead bodies of the mercenaries hung haphazardly from branches and boughs. Some of the corpses were so overgrown with grass and moss they had almost merged with the walls. What weapons they had brought lay uselessly on the floor.  
   Ivy turned to rescue Harley Quinn from her steel chains but found the clown princess of crime already standing cheerfully beside the empty chair, smiling like a magician’s assistant. Basic handcuffs were like nothing to her.  
   “You came for me, Red!”  
   Harley sprang forward and took a leap straight into Ivy’s arms. Ivy held her damsel with ease - she weighed almost nothing - and once again Harley pecked Ivy on the cheek, quickly but with intention.  
   “I knew you’d come,” she said. “But you really held out to the very last minute, didn’t you?”  
   A vague inference touched Ivy’s mind. Had Harley purposefully put herself in this situation in order to force Ivy to come and get her? How shrewd was Harley Quinn really Nobody could truly guess the depths of what went on in her mind. It was entirely possible that she had masterminded this whole thing. Who was really in command over whom here?  
   “I wanna go home, Ivy.”

The basement complex had started its life as a roller rink for poor kids, before its funds got cut short in favor of tax breaks for the wealthy. After that it had been an underground nightclub for a while, until it got shut down in a police razzia. The sunken halls now stood abandoned and forsaken, the fate of so many a building in Gotham City. Graffiti covered the walls several layers deep. Coin-operated arcade machines stood like sentinels from a forgotten era. Few of them worked anymore. Flickering neon lights in bright colors illuminated the space reasonably well, but there was a gloom present that no razzle-dazzle could ever fully shine through.  
   This was Harley’s favorite haunt.  
   Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn entered the hideout together. They were kissing now, which wasn’t very usual. Ivy let it happen because it seemed fitting. She was in a mood that allowed for it. She even acquiesced to Harley sliding her wandering hands down her back and over her curvaceous butt. Harley would soon get too grabby, but until then there was no harm in letting her have a little fun.  
   Presently they arrived at Harley Quinn’s fabled bed. Its frame was a of lacquered, liquorice-black metal and its sheets of frictionless, red satin. Verily, Harley Quinn knew exactly what she was about. Poison Ivy pushed her down on the mattress and bouncy Harley landed on her back. She knew the drill and started putting her wrists through the leather straps that were already attached to the bedposts.  
   “Can't go a minute these days without someone wanting to see you all trussed up,” she quipped, her tone halfway between humorous and seductive in a way Ivy had never heard anyone else manage.  
   Ivy tightened the straps for her and folded the buckles out of reach of Harley’s fidgeting fingers. She found more cords nearby and wrapped Harley’s legs together like a mermaid’s tail, and attached her feet to the foot of the bed. She needed Harley reliably secured for what she was planning.  
   The bed was large and Harley was now spread out in the shape of a capital Y. Ivy flipped open the belts that held Harley’s leather suit together in the front, and the whole thing began to come apart. Harley’s breasts pushed out of their tight containment and her nipples were already puffed up and perky.  
   “They’re glad to see you too!”  
   “You talk too much.”  
   “Funny how everyone keeps telling me that. Yet so few of them are clever enough to stuff things in my mouth!”  
   Ivy stroked her hands over Harley’s exposed breasts and Harley’s breath became heavier. She ceased her talking and became focused. Ivy looked around on the floor and found a piece of soft, plastic string. She fixed the ends of the string to Harley’s nipple piercings, one tender ring at the time, with little bows, very attentively. The string became a connecting line and she could now gently tug on it to pull at both of Harley’s nipples at once. Not only that, but she could twist the string left and right to manipulate the sensitive tips with a high degree of precision, treating Harley and her heaving chest like a marionette.  
   Harley Quinn loved it. She was very good at extrapolating complete motions form small hints. Ivy’s delicate nudges traveled through the string into Harley’s chest, where they were amplified manyfold by Harley, who twisted her whole body as far as her bonds would allow. Ivy suspected Harley was very proud of this attentiveness of hers and wanted to show off. In truth Ivy was herself continually impressed and even honored at how well Harley could serve her unspoken instructions. It bridged the inevitable distance between them. Ivy’s harmony with Harley Quinn could almost rival the sympathetic connection she shared with the vegetable world.  
   After a while Ivy felt ready to embark on the special act she had in mind for tonight. The one she had promised herself she would go through with. She left the string in place - she might need it again later - and looked around for what she was really after. She picked out a long cotton scarf, thick and black, which she proceeded to tie around Harley’s blonde head, covering the captive’s eyes.  
   “What is this?” Harley asked. “A blindfold?”  
   “I can’t let you look at me when I do what I’m about to do.”  
   “Oh, Ivy. You are giving me the shivers.”  
   Ivy stood back to discard the white sheet she was still wearing. At last fully nude again, she moved over Harley’s restrained body and knelt down. She positioned her legs on each side of Harley’s shoulders so that she ended up straddling the clown princess’ head, squeezing it between her thighs. She wrapped her green fingers around the bed’s headboard for stability. Harley understood immediately what was going on.  
   “Oh, Red!” she cried in heartfelt delight. “I will not disappoint-”  
   But Ivy had already lowered herself over Harley’s waiting mouth and the rest of the sentence was drowned out.


End file.
